An hour later, we’re parked outside the building again. I place my hand on my Glock and tap it gently.
“Last resort, Wy,” he warns me.
“If this bastard has my girls--”
“Just don’t lose your head. If we’re going to get them back, we’ve got to play this carefully.”
He’s run the database of people Logan works with named Celia. There were three options, and none of them are the description of the woman in the video. Nonetheless, we will be paying them all a visit tomorrow.
It feels like we wait forever. The day turns into dusk, and a dark veil falls over Seattle. We drive to get some food and arrive just in time to see a car pull up. Blake and I slip down in our seats, our eyes just above the dashboard line. It’s a Mercedes. It could be Logan’s, although Mercedes are common in Seattle, and everywhere in the world, in fact. The automatic gate opens, and the car drives in. There’s a security post outside the building, and the guard sees every driver and waves to them.
“It's a cold night. I bet he could use a doughnut,” Blake offers, jumping out of the vehicle. He takes a doughnut and my untouched coffee and makes his way over to the guard post. This can’t be a good idea, although I don’t see the harm. Nobody knows Blake. He taps on the window, and the guard opens up. Half an hour later, we are driving through the gates into the undercover parking. I’ve never been in this building before.
“How’d you get us in?”
“I told him your boyfriend lives in the building, and you want to surprise him. I’m the supportive brother.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Fucking classy.” But I’m just glad we’re in.
“And where’s my boyfriend's apartment exactly?”
“Fourth floor, apartment 4C.”
“You’re a genius, you know that?”
